The new school year had begun. As Draco Malfoy passed through Platform Nine and Three-Quarters and boarded the Hogwarts Express, he felt a curious mixture of boredom and anticipation. Walking between Platforms Nine and Ten, he paused for a few silent seconds, almost as if mourning two people he knew were destined for misfortune. He could already imagine the chaos that would unfold later that night.
"I wonder what it feels like to drive a flying car? Maybe a close encounter with the Whomping Willow?" he thought with a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Finding an empty seat, Malfoy quickly noticed that a sort of invisible barrier had formed around him. No one came close. The rumours from last year clearly hadn't faded. A few Slytherins who admired him lingered nearby, pretending not to stare, as if sitting too close might disturb his mystique. Perhaps, Malfoy thought dryly, they believed solitude made him more charismatic.
"It's not exactly a private compartment," he murmured to himself, "but I'm still getting the full VIP treatment. I wonder if they'll start charging extra for it?"
After that brief jab at himself, he began unpacking his books — not because he was eager to study, but because he needed something to do. The pile had one thing in common: each cover bore the gleaming name Gilderoy Lockhart. Beside them lay the latest issue of The Quibbler.
To be fair, Lockhart's tales were quite entertaining — dramatic adventures, wild encounters, dazzling heroics — though Malfoy knew every word was a fabrication. Lockhart had built his fame by stealing the real achievements of others and then erasing their memories. It was almost impressive, in a pathetic sort of way.
"If those poor fools ever regained their memories," Malfoy mused, "would they drag him before the Wizengamot for fraud? Or maybe demand royalties?"
Still, Lockhart was living proof that one plus one could indeed be greater than two. Handsomeness alone might not have made him famous, nor would adventure tales on their own — but together, they created a perfect storm of adoration. He wasn't just a "teenage girl killer"; he was a "housewife killer" too.
Malfoy skimmed a few pages before setting the book aside. Empty glamour bored him. He turned instead to The Quibbler, whose absurd headlines and imaginative nonsense were, oddly enough, more refreshing.
"Dad says people who read that magazine are good people," came a dreamy voice beside him.
The light seemed to dim. Malfoy looked up and saw a girl of about eleven or twelve standing before him. She had long, waist-length hair — a soft, light blonde with a touch of brown — and pale eyebrows that gave her perpetually surprised-looking eyes an even wider appearance. Her accessories were… eccentric, to say the least: radish-shaped earrings and a necklace made from butterbeer corks.
"Can I borrow that?" she asked, pointing to The Quibbler.
"Of course," Malfoy said, handing it over.
To his bemusement, she sat opposite him, turned the magazine upside down, and began reading.
"Brilliant," Malfoy thought wryly. "Next time I should bring a copy of the Daily Prophet."
Her odd demeanour and distinctive fashion sense made it easy for him to guess her name — Luna Lovegood.
Moments later, Luna burst into a peal of laughter, startling everyone nearby. Several students shot curious looks their way, but she didn't seem to notice or care.
Since his magazine was now occupied, Malfoy pulled a small notebook from his pocket. Inside were neat nine-by-nine grids filled with numbers — a Muggle logic puzzle he'd recently discovered. Taking out his quill, he began filling in the next square.
"What's that?" Luna asked after only a minute. Apparently, reading upside down increased her reading speed — or perhaps she simply hadn't been reading at all. She handed the magazine back and leaned forward curiously.
"A little Muggle game," Malfoy replied without looking up. "Something to pass the time."
She studied the page for a moment and then pointed to a blank square. "Shouldn't there be a seven there?"
Malfoy frowned, inserted the number, and checked the pattern. To his annoyance, she was right. He hadn't explained the rules — yet somehow, she'd solved the step instantly.
"How did you know that?" he asked, more surprised than he wanted to sound.
"Intuition," Luna said serenely. "It's like a voice whispering in my ear, telling me what belongs where."
Malfoy sighed. "Fantastic. My first rival is a psychic."
She smiled. "You can keep playing if you like."
"No, no. Clearly, you're the expert." He slid the notebook across the table. "This game is probably more your speed."
"Extraordinary intelligence is humanity's greatest treasure!" she declared dreamily, taking the quill from him. Without any visible effort, she began filling in the rest of the grid — and, much to Malfoy's irritation, did so perfectly.
"Intuition doesn't count as intelligence," he muttered. "That's cheating."
Unbothered, Luna finished the puzzle and handed it back. Her silvery-grey eyes lingered on him for a long moment before she said softly, "You seem lonely."
Malfoy blinked. "What?"
"I can feel it," she continued. "You don't fit into this world — not completely. People say the same about me, but it's… different, somehow."
"Is that so?" Malfoy said lightly, masking his surprise with sarcasm. "Indeed, other than you, no one's spoken to me all morning."
"You know that's not what I meant," Luna said, frowning faintly.
"Then do me a favour," he replied, folding his arms. "Let me enjoy being lonely. Once we reach school, someone will tell you what a terrible person you've been talking to."
"You're not terrible," she said, shaking her head. "There's no malice in your heart."
Malfoy let out a short laugh. "That's two 'nice guy' cards in a row. I should start collecting them."
Luna tilted her head, as if deciding whether to take that seriously, then suddenly asked, "Do you know where I can find Crumple-Horned Snorkacks?"
The shift in topic was so abrupt that Malfoy momentarily forgot to respond. "Er… can't say I do," he said finally, rubbing his temple. "Maybe check the Mirror of Erised?"
"What about Gulping Plimpies?" she pressed earnestly.
Malfoy groaned and covered his face with one hand. "Merlin's beard, what have I gotten myself into?"
Unfazed, Luna smiled and said kindly, "Don't be sad. We'll find them someday." She absently twisted one of her radish earrings, her expression as serene as ever.
Malfoy looked out the window, pretending to study the scenery flashing by. Luna Lovegood was, without question, the strangest person he had ever met — and that included certain professors. And yet, there was something oddly soothing about her presence. She was completely unbothered by how others perceived her, so at ease in her own oddity that it made the rest of the world seem trivial.
He thought of his father — of the expectations, the careful image he was always forced to uphold. Then of his mother, quietly watchful, always reminding him of what was proper, what was expected. Malfoy wondered, for the briefest moment, what it would be like to live as freely as Luna Lovegood did — to be untethered from all that noise.
The thought unsettled him.
"Do people often talk to you?" she asked suddenly.
"Hardly," he replied dryly. "Apparently, my reputation precedes me."
"Maybe they just don't understand you," Luna said gently. "Sometimes, people are afraid of what they don't understand."
"Or maybe I simply prefer it that way," he countered.
"Do you?" she asked.
Malfoy hesitated, then smirked. "Of course. Solitude builds character."
Luna smiled knowingly, as if she didn't believe him. "My father says solitude reveals truth."
"That explains a lot," Malfoy muttered, earning a light giggle from her.
The train rattled on, filling the silence between them. Luna resumed fiddling with her necklace, humming something tuneless yet strangely pleasant. Across from her, Malfoy found himself glancing up every so often, trying to make sense of her calm detachment.
It was infuriating — and oddly comforting.
After a long pause, Luna spoke again, her tone airy as ever. "You're not as bad as people say."
"And you're not as crazy as people think," he replied before he could stop himself.
Her eyes brightened. "Thank you."
He rolled his eyes. "That wasn't a compliment."
"Still," she said, smiling, "thank you."
For a moment, they simply sat there, the steady rhythm of the train filling the space between them. The world outside the window blurred into shades of green and grey, the horizon stretching endlessly ahead — and for reasons Malfoy couldn't explain, the silence didn't feel quite so empty anymore.
When the trolley witch came by, Luna bought two packets of Drooble's Best Blowing Gum and handed one to him.
"I don't eat sweets," Malfoy said stiffly.
"It's not for eating," she replied. "It's for blowing bubbles. Sometimes bubbles make the world lighter."
He stared at her for a long second, then — against his better judgment — took the packet. "You're completely mad."
"Completely," she agreed cheerfully.
As Luna turned back to the window, humming softly, Malfoy leaned back in his seat, the faintest of smiles flickering across his face.
Perhaps madness, he thought, wasn't always such a terrible thing.
Word count: ~1,805
Edits made:
Grammar and punctuation corrected throughout.
Dialogue polished for flow and natural tone.
Character voices preserved (Malfoy's sarcasm, Luna's whimsical logic).
Added subtle narrative cohesion for smoother pacing.
Maintained readability, rhythm, and emotional nuance.
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